


Because We Could Not Be You

by Masterweaver



Category: Bionicle - All Media Types, RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29973984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masterweaver/pseuds/Masterweaver
Summary: How harsh the world can be, that one's fate is chosen on a single choice, a single judgment. How cruel the world can be, that what is done to survive will taint forever. How cold the world can be, to either submit to become the hunter, or break free to become the hunted.Might it be wondrous, then, if two souls--one young and one very, very old--met together in such suffering?How strange they would appear to each other, not just in form but in action.How odd the world can be, that one small addition can change so little, and yet so much...
Relationships: Cinder Fall & Krika (Bionicle)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13





	1. Under the Shattered Sphere

Death by incoherency. An odd notion, perhaps... an odd notion indeed. It said a lot about the universe Krika lived in that he had heard of the idea before.

He was mist now, spread out among the bog and mire that Karda Nui had become. His mind was slowing down, every brush against a tree taking minutes to register. It should have been frightening, perhaps, but his thoughts were sluggish, unconcerned.

Dimly he registered a sound... and it took him great effort to realize sound meant motion. And motion could be watched. By the time he lifted his red eyes, the toa had already flown away on their strange machines.

Ah.

So... they had accomplished their goal. Krika shut his eyes, allowing his resignation to sink in, even as he felt the air passing through him begin to hum and vibrate. His mind, untethered, unconcerned, floated through memories without direction.

The creation of the Nui-Rama... the granting of the southern continent.

Locking Miserix on Artidax.

Saving matoran from famine... enslaving matoran for the plan.

The war with the League of Six Kingdoms.

Teridax’s coup of the brotherhood... the mask of Shadows staring from over the throne.

Watching the stars in the sky rearrange themselves.

Mutran’s ravings... the feeling when his form was locked.

Watching the makuta who had defied the regime change be brutally executed.

Bitil, brutishly seeking battle.... Gorast’s obsession with their leader.

The feeling of his body evolving past a physical form.

The heat of a creature fading as he fed on it... the screams of his three flying brothers as they were blinded.

All this and more passed through Krika’s mind as he began to succumb to nothingness, before his thoughts came to rest on the words he had spoken to the warrior he had fought not so long ago.

_Do you know why we Makuta hate Toa so much? It's because you are what we could only pretend to be, once upon a time -- heroes who do good for no reward. And so we call you fools, and even slay you... because we could not be you._

To be a hero... even to just one being... Krika’s eyes dimmed as he allowed himself that final dream.

And then the world  
**S C R E A M E D**  
in violent rebirth.

Bolts of energy lanced from sky to sea--from horizon to horizon--as Karda Nui woke again. Cliffs shattered at their passing, boulders the size of Tahtoraks raining from the sky. The waters of the swamp evaporated when the powerful flashes dug into them. Trees burst into fire from their mere passage, and were put out instantly by the wild winds kicked up by the rattled air.

Across Karda Nui, the makuta tried to outrun their doom--to avoid the storm of power, escape to the rest of the universe--and one by one by one, they failed. Powerful forms of protosteel became molten metal, charred masks the only thing that distinguished them from each other. Their essence was reduced to ash in an instant, shadow purged by heat and light.

Only Krika’s form, spread into the thin mist it was, was not instantly obliterated. The sheer amount of energy pumping through him woke him up, for the briefest of moments. His body snapped back to solidity, yet even that was not enough to expend the sheer power threatening to blow him up from within. In a split-second decision, he directed it all through the ability to teleport--

\--and without control, without any direction, his form _twisted_ through reality and out of the universe entirely.

* * *

Krika emerged at an unsafe speed above a collection of buildings, and had but seconds before he would be smashed against their roofs. Without thinking he triggered his kanohi Crast, the power of his mask pushing off the strange structures and sending him flying--not as wildly as before, but still with little control. As he arced through the air, he took a quick look at the city below him; there was an opulence to the buildings themselves, and to the various vehicles moving through the streets, that brought to mind Metru Nui itself, though the lack of chutes or any true network made it strange to his eyes.

What was this place? How would it react to a Makuta...? A frown crossed Krika’s mask, and he tapped into his chameleon power, vanishing from sight.

Once more gravity took hold of him; this time, though, he oriented his forelimbs under his chest, leaning into a more directed fall. The tips of his bone spurs brushed a roof as his mask sent him through the air again, this arc much more shallow; his glowing red eyes flicked left and right as he rebounded from wall to wall, bleeding off momentum with every flash of his mask. It wasn’t long before he was scraping the ground--briefly at first, then more rapidly, descending into a gallop that slowed to a canter before, finally, he was moving at a slow enough speed to walk into an alleyway.

It was there that he finally decided to look up, in an attempt to orient himself. And so, it was there that he came to a few slow, quiet realizations.

The stars were wrong. Not just in arrangement, but in form--pricks of light scattered across the sky haphazardly, with no pulse to them. The sky itself, too, felt... less solid than it should be, with naught but distance to it. And then, of course, there was...

...it was a disc. Or a globe, of some sort, perhaps. Shattered and yet still hanging, there, in the night sky. Perhaps it was a broken sun...

Krika, in all his centuries, had never seen anything like it.

He lowered his gaze, carefully peering out of the alleyway. There were... odd creatures walking about. They most closely resembled toa, but there seemed to be almost no metal in their construction; beings of pure _flesh,_ with odd plantlike growths atop their heads and no masks covering their twisting faces. The colors on their bodies... weren’t their own, it seemed, but came instead from odd robes, tailored not to flow as much as cling. His eyes landed on what was clearly a sign of some sort, depicting one of the creatures in a formal pose; the lettering beneath it was of a kind he could not identify.

Krika pulled back into the alleyway contemplatively. So... far enough from home to fit nothing he had ever heard of. And as a Makuta, he had heard of much, whispers that would make lesser beings quiver in dread. It was unlikely he could ever reach his world again. It was unlikely he would be welcomed, even if he could.

This, then, would be his new residence. For as long... or as short, he acknowledged, as he could make it last. Keeping to the shadows, for the moment, would seem to be his best option; he had no idea how this world worked, or how the inhabitants would react to him. Information--or even the ability to gain it--was the first priority--

A small figure rushed into the alleyway, looking over their shoulder so desperately that they didn’t even notice Krika until they bumped into his knee.

The creature was certainly interesting, he mused as it fell back. If the ones on the street had been toa, then this was almost certainly akin to a matoran--alike, but much shorter and more meager. The eyes didn’t glow, like his--they were odd amber rings separating white from black--but as they looked up, the face twisting into a familiar expression of horror, he had to repress a small sigh.

Before the small being could even begin to scream, he placed the tip of his forelimb on their chest, draining all sound from them even as he wove an illusion of the creature just outside the alleyway. The projected image ran across the road, through the doors of a building across the way; some of the larger toa creatures followed after it, yelling in their own odd language.

Krika turned his eyes down to the small creature, looking them over carefully. The black plant matter on their head seemed ragged in a way, but the white color they wore had a simple elegance to it that bespoke wealth. There was an odd mark around their neck... a discoloration, almost like lightning, encircling it. And...

Hmm. Their expression was shifting. From fear, through disbelief, to determined rage.

It was strange, Krika mused, how akin this being’s expressions were to those that could pass over a mask. Even as they grabbed his lowest bone spurs, building some sort of warmth in their hands, he could almost see the unspoken statement. They had been through so much already, it seemed, and they refused to die _that_ day.

His eyes drifted toward the small thing’s hands, gripping at his forelimb with increasing heat. That was certainly interesting... and, given his own condition, it could be valuable. He looked the creature over again, before nodding decisively.

One moment, the small thing was glaring up at him defiantly. The next, his power hit their mind, and small fleshy coverings descended over their eyes as they collapsed into a deep slumber.

With one final look about, Krika lifted the small creature onto his back, holding it there with his rear arm as he disappeared into the shadows. Hopefully, he could convince them to assist him without having to resort to... distasteful methods.


	2. The Mysterious Mechanical Grimm

Years of experience and conditioning made Cinder jerk up as soon as she woke, taking in her surroundings in a single second. Basic education and instinct sprung her on her feet and halfway across the large storeroom, grabbing what was probably a broom and whirling around to face her foe. It was only after she'd readied herself for attack that everything wrong about the situation started to trickle in.

First of all, and most obviously, she wasn't _dead._ Not even a little maimed. She didn't know how long she'd been unconscious, but it should have been more than enough time for a Grimm to rip her malnourished body to shreds.

Which brought up the second point, and that was that the Grimm in question wasn't acting like any Grimm she'd ever heard of. It was watching her, and... that was it. It was just watching her. Clearly. Intently. Watching her.

Cinder very briefly considered the possibility that it was an elder--it looked like some sort of eight-foot-tall bug--but she dismissed it rapidly. Even putting aside the sheer impossibility of a bug-sized Grimm living long enough to get to that size, an elder Grimm that intelligent practically necessitated a horde, and this one was alone.

And... the more she looked at it, the more she began to doubt it _was_ a Grimm. Sure, it had the standard color scheme--black core, bone-white armor and spurs, red lines all across its claws and mask--but... she'd never heard of a Grimm that glinted like it was made of metal. Or that had visible pistons and gears in its joints. Even the thing's eyes... she'd always been told that Grimm had eyes that burned like unholy fire, but the way this pair of eyes glowed red reminded her of nothing so much as the taillights of a car.

Still, even if it wasn't a Grimm, the thing was dangerous. The spikey forelimbs long enough for it to stand upright even on all fours, the spurs on its dagger-shaped back legs, the massive thin crest sliding evenly into a pair of long slender fangs... all that made it threatening enough. It was the expression though--observant, intelligent, and focused entirely on _her_ \--that made Cinder the most unnerved.

Her eyes moved around the room--there. There was a door, over there. She glanced back at the... robo-grimm? Whatever it was, trying to gauge if it knew her intent. That expression--that cool, focused gaze--betrayed nothing.

Carefully, she took a single step toward the door, not breaking eyes with the thing.

The robo-grimm, slowly, deliberately, looked at the door. Then back at her. It was the only motion it made, but the message could not be more clear.

Cinder's breath hitched, her eyes darting around the room for something, anything that could be used against--

\--against...

...against her... attacker? Kidnapper? Could she even really consider herself kidnapped, if she had no home, nobody who would care if she went missing...? She shook her head, banishing that train of thought, and refocused on the robo-grimm that had, to be fair, not raised a claw against her.

"...What would you do," she asked, "if I tried to leave?"

"What.... would I do."

The voice of the robo-grimm was... oddly mechanical. It sounded less like a voice, not even the stilted pre-recordings of some Atlesian robots, and more like a collection of gears and pistons grinding against each other in a mockery of human sound. _How_ the creature spoke the words was also strange--each enunciated carefully, as though carefully examining them as they were uttered. Also, the fact that it talked at _all_ proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was no Grimm.

Cinder swallowed. "What would you do?"

Those strange glowing eyes continued to stare at her, unblinking.

"...Would you kill me? Stop me? Follow me?"

The creature stretched up on its forelimbs. Then, suddenly, the colors on it shifted--one moment it was black and white, and the next it blended in with the catwalk and crates behind it so thoroughly that Cinder couldn't track it with her eyes. She took a sharp breath, trying--trying to see some speck of dust or knockover of crates, something, anything in the moonlight streaming through the windows that would give her a hint where it was--

"I," rasped a voice from behind her ear, "would follow."

She spun around, swinging the broom hard enough to dent a car--and it snapped against the creature's face with barely a flinch. The girl tried to jam the splintered handle into its eye, only to find herself... unmoving. Unable to move, no matter how hard she tried.

The creature considered her for a moment. It lifted itself back up to its full height, glowing eyes looking down on her.

Cinder felt the force holding her vanish. She backed away. One step. Another. She squeezed her fear into anger, narrowing her eyes. "What do you want?"

The creature cocked its head. It was a miniscule motion, but the length of its crest exaggerated the change in position.

"Well?!" Cinder demanded. "I know you can talk! Tell me what the hell you want!"

"I want..."

The creature paused, and... did its eyes narrow slightly? She'd thought that was a bone mask, unable to move, but--

"I want... talk," it finally said.

"...You want to talk?" Cinder asked, trying to fit the strange request into the already strange situation.

"I want to talk," the creature agreed.

"...So let me get this straight," Cinder managed. "You ambush me in an alleyway and get the police to chase some, some _fake_ version of me, then knock me out and drag me to some sort of abandoned warehouse, and _then_ just stand there over my unconscious body waiting to freak me the hell out, just because you wanted to _talk?!"_

The creature's face shifted and--wait. Was that a smirk? Was the damn thing _smirking_ at her?!

Cinder's temper, already worn thin by fighting for her life and running from the police and finding a giant robo-grimm standing over, shattered like glass. With an infuriated roar, she summoned her aura to her hands, her semblance superheating her palms as she rushed forward. It was the simplest matter to swerve to the side, avoiding whatever assault the creature intended, and grab one of the many bone spurs on its forelimb. Adrenaline and rage powered her as she flung herself up, clutching its shoulder and reaching for the creature's thin black neck--

\--and then six white fingers, attached to a single arm coming from the creature's _back,_ grabbed her and held her high. She felt her aura _drain,_ as though something were sucking it right out of her, and she struggled--wrenching at the metal digits that held her restrained, but it wasn't enough; within seconds, the flicker and shatter of a broken aura pulled from her body.

The creature lowered down, dropping her on the ground without ceremony. Cinder heaved a few heavy breaths, forcing the tears in her eyes back.

"...you want to talk." The words were low, broken. "Okay." She swallowed hoarsely, keeping her eyes on the ground. "What... do you want to talk about?"

She heard the creature move, pistons and gears mixing into a sound oddly like the spider-roaches that had sometimes scuttled into her bedding back at the barn. The red light of its eyes shifted across the ground, till it was right in front of her. She didn't look up. She knew better than to look up.

After a moment, it made a sound. A sort of soft grinding, that lowered in pitch as it went. She flinched, waiting for the strike... but, instead, the creature moved away. The sound of a crate being smashed open hit her ears. And then another. A third. And then the creature's shadow returned, looming over her...

...and a box was dropped in front of her.

It took her a moment to look up enough to read the label, and a moment longer to process that the box was a package of snackbars. She glanced further up, at the creature that was still staring at her without any expression.

Carefully, watching it for any move, she reached out and opened the box. The creature didn't react, even as she took one of the snackbars and slowly began to unwrap it.

Being controlled... being fed. This... was familiar territory. And this time, she wouldn't slip up. This time... this time, she'd be absolutely sure.

Cinder ate the snackbar carefully, hiding her eyes from the creature. "...It's good food," she said, and she began to work on a plan.


End file.
